Something New
by alockwood
Summary: The first time I met the Doctor, he was alone and broken.


**Something New**

The first time I met the Doctor, he was alone and broken.

I lived in New York City. Every now and then, when I had had a rough day in the shop, I would take a walk through Central Park to watch the happy people. The children were so innocent and radiant, and the elderly couples holding hands reminded me that one day, after I was done with school and didn't have to work in a shop, I could be happy. By the time I walked into my tiny apartment, I was always considerably more hopeful about my future.

But on the evening that I met the Doctor, I cried myself to sleep.

The young man sitting on the park bench was wearing a tweed jacket over a bowtie and suspenders. Perched on his nose was a pair of round glasses, and his hair flopped over right his eye. He had a book open in his hands. Anywhere else, he might have been considered eccentrically dressed, but this was New York. I didn't notice him for his clothes. I noticed him because he was crying.

Normally, I would have walked past, looking away politely. But there was something different about him. His face was so young, but he held himself like an old man. And he was alone.

"Are…are you okay?" The sound of my own voice surprised me. And, apparently, him.

He jumped slightly. "Erm. Yes. Yes, f-fine." His voice shook, but I could still detect his English accent. He wiped his eyes, embarrassed.

I gestured at the book in his hand. "I hate endings."

He looked surprised.

"Sometimes I almost feel as if I've lost a friend when I close a book," I continued.

He deflated. I immediately regretted my words.

"I'm really sorry. I hope you're better," I said, and then I practically ran away, mentally kicking myself for opening my mouth.

The next time I met the Doctor, he recognized me.

I was hurrying down a street in London. I had finally graduated school and was working in journalism. It wasn't exactly my dream job, but it was my ticket to travel. The street was deserted, and I was glad not to have to fight through a crowd. I had exactly six minutes to turn in a news story.

A man materialized from around a corner and knocked the papers out of my arms. "Hey, watch—" I paused. There was something familiar about the man.

"Sorry, sorry, gotta dash, there's something in the wi-fi and it—" he cut himself off, picking up my papers and looking at the title. "_Life Among the Distant Stars_," he muttered. He looked up at me. "I remember everyone," he said. "I met you when…."

"Central Park. Two years ago," I supplied.

"Oh, was it?" he mused. "Seems like so much longer…." He spaced out for a moment, then shook himself back to reality. "Sorry, I didn't catch your name. I'm the Doctor."

"Ellie. Sorry, the doctor of what?"

"Everything."

"You're barely older than I am. You can't be a doctor of everything."

"This story," he said, "Did you write it?"

I didn't miss that he had avoided my question. I looked at the paper. "Yeah. It's a few weeks old though. I didn't have much luck with it. The publishers don't seem to…share the same views on alien life as I do."

"Yes, they do that." His eyes skimmed the paper. "What's a newly-hatched journalist doing writing about something so controversial?"

I bristled. "I write about what I believe in."

He looked at me with a spark of admiration in his eye. "Good." He smiled. He pulled a pocket watch from inside his jacket. "It's been lovely, but I really must go! Only two minutes to get to the Shard!"

"To—what?" I asked, but he was already rounding the corner. I looked at the time on my phone— and with a gasp, clutched my papers and ran.

"It's funny, you know, I never read the paper. But the paper, the paper can be useful. It can show a whole different side of things. Most of the time it's rubbish. The journalists always get it wrong."

I gaped at the man leaning against the door of my office. After fifteen years in the industry, after working my way to the head of my department, people still had the _nerve…._

"But not you," he said." "You're important. Not that I've ever met someone who wasn't important. But you're _special._"

Great. A nutter.

Though admittedly, he was a bit of a silver fox. He was very tall and very thin, dressed in a suit that fit him well. His tousled silver hair rose a few inches off his head in a good way and was still streaked with a bit of brown. Horn-rimmed glasses framed his grey eyes.

He folded himself gracefully into the chair on the other side of my desk. "Hello, Ellie." I heard his Scottish accent now that I had gotten over the initial shock.

I reached my hand out to shake his. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met, Mister…."

"Doctor."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm the Doctor."

"The doctor of what?"

"Everything."

A memory came back of a young man with a bow tie and floppy hair. This man couldn't be the same. Fifteen years had passed, but he couldn't have aged that much.

"I met someone once who said the same thing."

"Yes, I remember that. That must have been close to four hundred years ago. Shame, I still didn't get ginger! Bit jealous of you. Ah well, regeneration's a lottery."

I raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to finish. "I don't know what the hell you're on about, but for one, I am proud of my hair. It seems to make people afraid of me. Which I recommend you be. Stop wasting my time. I'm busy."

He smiled, amused.

I glared.

He laid a paper on my desk, folding his arms. "I came about this."

I read the title. _Life Among the Distant Stars._ It was the front page of this week's paper. "What of it?"

"You wrote it."

"Yeah?"

"You wrote it years ago. Or maybe it wasn't—no—" he looked me over, seeming to analyze my appearance. "No, it was definitely years. You had it in your hand when I met you for the second time."

I leaned across my desk. "Who are you?"

"Central Park. I was a sort of…well, you know. London. You were just starting. I knocked the papers out of your hand on my way to the Shard. There was something in the wi-fi. You had a deadline to make. I'm the Doctor."

I stared at him, wide-eyed. "You're not the same man I met then."

"Yes, yes I am. Just not in the same body."

I gaped at him. "That's not even possible."

"This article," he said. "You wrote it years ago. You couldn't publish it at the time. But all these years later, after you've proven yourself, you've published it. You've shown that you stick to your beliefs, no matter who may doubt you."

I didn't say a word.

"That's different," he said. "That's _special. _And that's what I need. Come with me."

My voice didn't seem to be working. "Where?" I whispered.

He smiled and looked at the article, then at me. "The distant stars."


End file.
